


Transformers: Panacea

by sphilia



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Pronouns, F/F, Found Family, Gen, a ragtag bunch of misfits have adventures and maybe save their species from extinction or something
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:58:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4788098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sphilia/pseuds/sphilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An attempt at an original Transformers continuity, with influences from Animated and IDW. After four million years of civil war, there's very little cybertronians universally agree on, except this: Autobots and Decepticons? Don't mix. The crew of the First Aid, however, are not like normal cybertronians. A motley crew, they've defected from both sides of the war, they're bound together by a wish for freedom and peace. But when damage to their ship forces them to land on a remote little planet, they find Autobot and Decepticon forces both trying to claim it for themselves. Now they're caught in the middle of two forces that both see them as traitors - and in possession of something that could change the destiny of all cybertronians.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transformers: Panacea

“And heeere’s Rosanna! Reporting from the Autobot Central Space Station! Just a few short cycles ago, our very own Prime arrived aboard the Ark, bringing the flagship home from the front for the first time in ten vorns. Since the arrival, the Prime has been sequestered with High Command, and rumors are flying high out here. Do we have the ‘cons on the run? Are we seeing the beginning of the end of the war? High Command is scheduled to make a statement later today, so tune in at 32:00 for updates with me, your Rosanna! I’ll be bringing you--”

“Please turn the propaganda off, Sky-Byte.” Red Alert’s authoritative voice cut over the tinny sound of the broadcast. “It’s giving me a headache.”

The shark beastformer looked up from her medical slab, where she had been curled around the sound system, a small pink box covered in fading, peeling heart stickers. “But I’m listening,” she pouted, yellow optics huge and pleading. “It’s Rosanna!”

“Don’t crush her dreams, Doc,” Twirl chirped from the floor. A mess of parts and mysterious knickknacks surrounded the pink little jet in her corner of the room, where she was huddled over a half-assembled thruster. “Sky-Byte just loooves Rosanna, even if she _is_ a political puppet of the Autobot regime.”

“I didn’t she was a puppet,” Red Alert said, primly adjusting her glasses. “I might have thought it, but I didn’t say it.  Because unlike you, Twirl, I have a brain-to-mouth filter.”

“You guys are both mean!” Sky-Byte whined, rolling over in a sulky fish-flop. “Rosanna is dedicated to the people! She would never compromise her integrity by letting some politician tamper with her broadcasts! She just wants to bring joy to...” She paused mid-rant, squinting suspiciously at Twirl from her upside-down position. “Twirl, why is my thruster spitting pink sparkles?”

Twirl’s yellow optics widened over her orange visor, a poor attempt to look innocent. “I… might have upgraded it? A little?”

Sky-Byte gasped in outrage, rolling upright and flapping her fins angrily. “Doctor! She’s messing with my body parts! Make her stop!”

“I’m making it _better_! You’ll look much cuter like this!” Twirl protested loudly.

“I’ll look ridiculous! It won’t even match my other thruster!”

“So let me fix that one, too! Or just let me give you a cooler alt altogether! You’d look much better as a jet!”

“I don’t want to be a jet! I like being a shark! Stay away from me!”

“ **Enough**.” At her full height, the red and white medic loomed large over the two arguing bots, and when she folded her arms and aimed a stern frown at both of them, they both fell silent, shamefaced like scolded hatchlings. “Sky-Byte,” Red Alert said calmly, “If you care so much about your thrusters, you shouldn’t have gotten them damaged by trying to do _air somersaults_. Twirl is fixing them, so be grateful. And Twirl,” she added, “don’t upgrade Sky-Byte’s thrusters without her permission. It’s an unethical violation of her bodily autonomy.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Sky-Byte and Twirl chorused meekly under the medic’s penetrating gaze.

Mollified, Red Alert turned to leave the med bay, pausing only to send a final warning glare back into the room. “Now, behave. Both of you.” Her stern face only faltered when the door slid shut behind her. She vented deeply, and glanced down the corridor.

The _First Aid_ was not a large ship. As a medical ship built for deep space combat, it was meant to flit in and out of the action, picking up Autobots sent drifting in open space. A fully stocked medical bay allowed personnel to treat injuries on the go, but at the end of the day, this type of ship was meant to dock in its hub ship and let the crew head home to their real quarters. As a permanent home, the _First Aid_ had… limitations.

Red Alert wouldn’t give up her rowdy little crew for anything, but sometimes she wished for just a little… space. A little room to breathe, if cybertronians had been equipped to perform respiratory functions.

The ‘corridor’ she stood in was not so much a hallway as a central chamber, circular and lined with a handful of doors that lead to all the rooms in the ship. On a proper medical ship, it would be kept clear to accommodate the moving of patients; on the _First Aid_ , a smattering of recreational objects and empty energon cubes could always be found on the floor, brought out for the extra space, then left behind. Red Alert made a mental note to remind the crew to clean up after themselves. It would be no more effective than her previous fifty reminders, but it made her feel slightly better.

Through an open door, the one that jammed and never fully closed, she spotted Ida curled up on her recharge slab. With all her legs tucked under her, the little spider beastformer had the approximate shape of a loaf. Red Alert smiled fondly to herself, and was careful not to wake her while she passed the door to enter the cockpit, where she knew she would find the last member of the little crew.

At the sound of the doors sliding open, the pilot raised one servo at Red Alert, both a greeting and an imperative to wait. Minerva hated to talk without being face to face, and as she was currently bent over the ship instruments, intently studying readings, Red Alert came to stand beside her and waited patiently.

She had to wait only a cycle or two before Minerva straightened, swiveling her chair to face Red Alert, pale blue optics narrowed into a smile above her dark orange faceplate. _Morning, Red_ , the lights on either side of her head blinked. _The little ones driving you out of your own med bay again?_

As always, the sight of Minerva’s smile made warmth bloom in Red Alert’s spark, and she couldn’t have held back her own answering smile even if she wanted to. “You try keeping those unprocessed hatchlings in line day in and day out, and you’d need a break, too,” she said, fondly exasperated. “And it’s not morning, anymore.”

_It’s morning somewhere_ , Minerva blinked, mischievous glint in her optics. _You can’t complain_ , she added. _You’re the one who keeps picking up strays._

“Lies. Lies and propaganda,” Red Alert deadpanned. She nudged Minerva’s shoulder fondly, gesturing at the blinking instruments surrounding them. “Since you have time to tease me, I suppose everything must be going well in here.”

_Yes, yes_ , Minerva said, spreading her arms protectively over the console, as if Red Alert was invading her domain. _Some incoming debris, nothing to worry about._

Red Alert looked dubious. “Didn’t you say something similar right before we crashed on Antilla? As I recall, we were stuck doing repairs for two full stellar cycles.” She demonstratively held up her red servos, all delicate lines and long, sensitive digits. “These servos are made to hold laser scalpels, Minerva, not atomic spanners.”

Minerva shot her a dangerous, narrow-opticked look. _Unless those servos want to take over the controls, I don’t want to hear your_ _backseat piloting_ , she said, underlining her words with an irritated flick of her servos, nearly an outright shooing motion.

Red Alert stifled a chuckle and backed up, placating. “Yes, yes, don’t get your gearbox in a twist. I just--”

A dull crash cut her off, reverberating throughout the ship. The ship gravity prevented any jostling within the vessel, but that sound was enough to make Red Alert trade alarmed looks with Minerva; that was no regular space debris deflecting harmlessly off the ship chassis. That was the sound of an impact. Minerva swung her seat back to the controls, servos dancing over inputs and switches, scanning monitors for information. No time for shock and paralysis until they knew the extent of the damage. Red Alert would be of no use in the cockpit, so she gave Minerva’s shoulder a fleeting touch, then turned to find the others. Even as she was exiting the cockpit, she felt Minerva ping the crew comm channel for reports.

_No breach here_ , Twirl reported, quick and no-nonsense. _Heading for engine room_. Entering the main chamber, Red Alert saw her disappear down the engine room stairwell, a flash of pink beyond a closing door. Through another door, Ida peeked her head out, all eight green optics bright with fear, amplified by the disorientation of interrupted recharge.

At the sight of Red Alert, she darted out to her, dancing nervously around her feet on her stubby little spider legs. "Doctor," she squeaked, “what’s happening?”

Red Alert crouched down to Ida’s level, gently patting her black head. “We don’t know yet. Don’t assume the worst, Ida.” Her voice was soothing, but Red Alert made it a point not to make false assurances.

The spider nuzzled the offered servo gratefully, but her pedipalps still clicked anxiously. “But what if the ship is damaged? What if we crash?”

“If it’s serious,  Minerva will find somewhere to land, and we’ll repair the ship. We are not going to crash.”

Ida seemed only slightly reassured, though she nodded unhappily. All eight of her optics still looked pleadingly up at Red Alert, until she rose to her feet and patted her leg in permission. Ida immediately darted up the leg and attached herself to Red Alert’s back like a backpack, clinging as close as she could. The habit had taken some getting used to, but Ida seemed to derive so much comfort from it, Red Alert didn’t have the spark to deny her. It was usually quicker to carry her this way, anyway, her short spider legs clearly not built for speed.

Neither of them would be any help to Twirl in the engine room, so Red Alert ducked back into the med bay, where Sky-Byte waved sheepishly from her slab. The damaged thruster sat next to her, hastily patched up. “Hey,” she said. “Are we in trouble?”

“Don’t know yet,” Red Alert said, shaking her head. She pointed at the thruster, brisk professionalism in every inch of her tall frame. “Is it fixed?”

“Sort of. Twirl said it’s just a temp job, but ‘it’ll do for now’.” Sky-Byte grimaced, apparently uneasy with the prospect of having a Twirl ‘temp job’ attached to her body, but Red Alert nodded approvingly.

“We need you on your feet and… Er.” Red Alert glanced quickly down at Sky-Byte’s tail fin. “Well, we need you mobile,” she corrected herself. “Permanent repairs can wait. Twirl was wise to go for a quick fix."

"I guess," Sky-Byte said half-heartedly, already moving into position to allow Red Alert to perform the necessary surgery. Ida peered over Red Alert’s shoulder as the doctor pulled tools out of her subspace. It was gratifying to have something to do, but there remained a tension in the air. They weren’t out of danger yet.

It was an unspoken rule not to pester Twirl and Minerva in situations like this, but even Red Alert was nearly on the verge of asking for an update, when Twirl preempted her. _Need to land, Merv_ , she messaged the crew comm. _Outside repairs needed._

_I’ve been looking_ , Minerva responded instantly. _We’re heading for Chrysoprase 17b. Cybernetic. Mining colony._ She paused for a fraction, then added, _It’s contested._

Ida gasped and ducked her head back behind Red Alert’s back, while Sky-Byte made a meeping sound, optics going saucer wide. Contested. A word they all feared. Red Alert felt her mouth thin to a grim line.

_You're sure?_ she asked uselessly. Minerva would never make a mistake on such an important point, and she knew it.

Minerva knew it, too, but didn’t call her on it. _I'm picking up cybertronian activity. Autobot and Decepticon both. It's a war zone, Red._

_The war's caught up with us._


End file.
